Scarecrow Stories: Wings of a Dragon
“Tell us another story, Mr. Fletcher!” Marsha and her group of children had practically made a ritual out of sitting by the lobby couch and waiting for Flea Bag to walk by. They didn’t even notice Rhett changing a lightbulb while awkwardly standing on a precariously placed ladder beside the couch. “''Well I never run out of stories, little ones. What do you want your next story to be about?” The children grew silent; they hadn’t a clue. “''I know, how about I tell you a story about Mr. Raynor here.” Rhett almost fell off the ladder at the mention of his name. It took a second, but Rhett was taken aback when he looked down and saw the lack of burlap sack on Flea Bag's head, replaced by a strip of burlap across his eyes. “Whoa, whoa, hold up Flea Blindfold. I didn’t okay any story!” “''Ah, well I only tell stories that are true, Mr. Raynor. I’m far more the journalist than the author, so I can assure you there won’t be any inaccuracies.” “Yeah, and I’m the King of Ashes! Scoot over Scarecrow, I have a story to tell!” His sarcastic retort was quickly outweighed by his excitable enthusiasm. After making himself comfortable, he began: “So there I was, outside the crystal palisades of the Citadel of the Gods located on the north pole of the Arcadian moon’s reflection. My assignment was to infiltrate the territory of the Priestess of Panacea inside, attain information as to her planned movements, and steal the Wings of the Black Dragon-” “''Your assignment, Rhett, may I call you Rhett? Your assignment was to investigate the Princess of Panacea. Stealing anything was entirely your idea.” Fletcher seemed slightly amused at his co-storyteller. The children did too. “Okay, okay, so the stealing thing was my own idea. It was a step on the way of getting the hell, oop, heck out of Faerie, so I was willing to take some extra risks.” Rhett didn’t want to curse in front of the kids, but he obviously still wanted to sound tough. He got an ‘Oooo” from the audience for his troubles. He couldn’t hide how much he was enjoying this. “First issue was scaling the wall. Of course, when you have legs like mine walls don’t pose much of a problem. Sure it took some Glamour, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I didn’t want to wake the fortress riflemen, so I went prone and took my time getting up there, then WHAM! I knocked four guards unconscious with blasts of pressurized smoke! How’m I doing so far, Fletcher?” It was a miracle Rhett hadn’t hit Flea Bag in the face with his wild hand motions while he “described” the fight atop the castle walls. “''You’re doing fine, Rhett, as long as your definition of unconscious is falling to your death after being knocked off the side of a castle wall by burst of concentrated air. Also, my count was two guards, not four.” The children giggled. “...” Rhett paused. He’d been trying to censor himself about the murder, but he relented. These children were changelings; they’d probably seen a lot worse. “''Don’t get me wrong, you’re doing a great job. Please continue.” Fletcher was smiling, his teeth much prettier than one would expect from a man who lived on goblin fruit in the Hedge for who-knows-how-long. Rhett wondered if Fletcher had some kind of goblin-toothbrush and then shrugged the idea off. “Then, it was down into the city proper. The place was massive. I thought to myself all the Fae here must be giants-” “''They were and are.''” added Flea Bag. “And the marketplace there, oh man! Everything was so beautiful, all blues and purples and blacks! I got directions from one of the Lunar Reflections, which is what the changelings there are called, and I started on my way towards Panacea with nothing but my pack o’ tricks slung on my back. Everything was going great until this guard made of blue moonstone complete with craters shoved his hand into my chest. He was all like “I don’t recognize you” and “Where is your Identification stone?”” Rhett had given the guardsman a ridiculous voice and even more silly body movements. “I tried to give the guy an uppercut to the jaw, but it didn’t really work out in my favor; he took it like a man.” Rhett motioned his punch, slapped his moving elbow with his other hand to make the appropriate sound effect. “Before I know it, 2 seconds later I’m flattened to the ground after the jerk slammed me with the flat of his blade right on my left shoulder! I know I’m all smoke, but there’s still enough of me here to make that still hurt! Unless I dissipate, but we’ll get to that.” Rhett was getting ahead of himself, but he reigned it in. Flea Bag was impressed. To be continued! Category:Fiction